Dean wrote
his heart out
often out
of his mind
hitchhiking
the back roads
riding along
with any muse
who stopped
to pick him up
safety
be damned
he was
not afraid
to bail on
an indulgent
poem
careening
across the page
or to stick out
his bruised
& bloody
thumb again
simply put
& he’d agree
Dean fucked
every muse
he met
his poems
are all bastards
